Implications
by Fenikkusuken
Summary: OneShot.  Set pre-movie.  Immortal frat boys with too much time - and mead - on their hands are a dangerous combination.


**Disclaimer:** Definitely not mine, dammit. Just borrowing 'em for fun and games, not profit.

**A/N:**Inspired by the movie **THOR** and a nifty tidbit of Norse mythology, namely the story of how Odin's eight-legged horse, Sleipnir, was conceived. Hint: it involves Loki… and a lusty stallion. No, really.

Set prior to the movie, but after Loki's gender/species-bending misadventure.

**For Ranuel, **because sharing the blame is half of the fun!

**Warnings:** Immortal frat boys with too much time and mead on their hands.

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**Implications**

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_Allfather save me, here we go again._

Loki mentally rolled his eyes as his inebriated drinking companions launched into yet another round of alcohol-fuelled one-upmanship.

"I tell ya, she ha' thighs like a willow tree and bosoms like... like..."

"Snowy mountain peaks?" suggested Hogun, dreamily staring up at the ceiling.

"Nay..."

"Boulders?" Fandral hiccupped.

"Nay, idiot! They were as soft as..."

"Fresh cheese? _Delicious_!" Volstagg chimed in with a sigh.

Dodging Thor's flagon as it bounced off Volstagg's head, Loki picked an imaginary loose thread out of his green-trimmed silver tunic and sighed heavily himself. _At least when Lady Sif's around, they keep their manly competitions out of the gutter._

"She ha' eyes brighter tha'... tha' Lady Freyja's necklace, an' her flaxen hair... shimmer'd like th' Bifrost!"

_How poetically inept, brother dear. _At that precise moment, an idea so delightful, so amusing and so wonderfully malicious popped into Loki's head that he had to hide his smile behind his goblet. _Oh, yes... that __will__ be fun_.

Retrieving Thor's flagon, Loki collected an ewer of mead and breathed a spell over the liquor. Ambling around the table to his brother, who was blearily searching for more to drink, he solicitously hauled Thor upright in his chair and placed the flagon before him. "She sounds absolutely ravishing, Brother," he smoothly offered while pouring a full measure.

Thor suspiciously squinted, then broke out into a sunny, lopsided grin. "Tha's why I love ya, Loki – yer a pain inna ass, bu' yer a sensi... sensa... yer all righ', Bro!"

"Indeed," Loki smiled pleasantly. Very soon the enchanted mead had almost overcome even the thunder god's legendary capacity for drink and the Warriors Three were almost but not quite on the verge of drooling slumber. _Perfect._ "If you will excuse me, I have business elsewhere." Thor woozily waved him away and Loki slipped from the room.

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"They tell me I can find the mighty Thor here." All heads turned, more or less, to peer at the husky-voiced speaker, and all jaws promptly dropped. A vision in a clinging, green-and-silver gown lounged against the door frame, glossy dark hair curling around a heart-shaped face, pale eyes sparkling with amusement. Flowing into the room, the slender woman tipped shut Fandral's gaping mouth with a little caress of his chin, tweaked Hogun's topknot and stole a grape from Volstagg's plate; overcome, he just smiled and fluttered his fingers.

"Hello there, handsome," she purred, trailing her hand across Thor's broad shoulders and leaving the scent of a heady perfume behind.

"At yer service, m'lady," he slurred. His poorly aimed attempt to catch hold of her hand, with a mind to kissing the slender appendage, ended with him pawing the bodice of her gown, but she didn't seem to mind. Instead, she gracefully deposited herself in the empty chair usually occupied by Lady Sif, and propped her daintily pointed chin on her palm.

"In truth, my lord, you are all that I have been told, and more," she murmured, brushing the backs of her fingers against his cheek, the exotic scent filling his nose.

"Yer name, m'lady?" Thor mumbled, this time managing to capture her hand and bring it to his lips; she smiled serenely, if a tad tightly, when he noisily smooched her knuckles.

"Tis not important, my lord," she said, surreptitiously wiping her hand on her gown once she had freed it. "Just know that I have long been an admirer of yours, o thunder god."

"An admir'r. O' me?" A crooked grin crept across Thor's face. "Betcha wanna see m'hammer, eh?"

She clasped her hands in a pose of sincere adoration. "Truly? It would be an _honour_, my lord!"

"All righty then... oopsie." He tried to stand up, and almost immediately plopped back down and looked around. "D'ya wan' some mead? Whr's Loki? Get th' lady a glass..."

"Here, allow me to assist you." With surprising strength, the dark-haired beauty heaved Thor onto his feet and pulled his arm around her shoulders.

"Whoo... yer a bold 'un, aincha?" he commented as she briskly manoeuvred him towards the door.

"Make s'all proud, m'lord!" Fandral solemnly commanded, just before his eyes crossed and he passed out. As Volstagg and Hogun saluted their farewells, the woman gaily waved as she lugged Thor out of the room.

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"Yer a pr'tty lil thing..."

"Why, thank you. Watch your step!"

"Oopsie. Need lie down. _Now_."

"Here's your bed, you big oa... _oof_!"

There followed a bit of desultory groping, a few odd noises, and then silence.

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_This __wasn't in the plan. _ Loki contemplated the gilded ceiling of Thor's chamber and plotted how to turn the situation to his advantage. Trying not to flinch as he was drunkenly mauled, Loki let out a startled squeak when his neck was thoroughly snuffled with whiskery affection. Blissfully oblivious to the fact the 'woman' he was sprawled on top of happened to be his shape-shifting brother, Thor giggled boozily and nuzzled Loki's neck again... then belched spectacularly and promptly passed out.

_Oh, he __will__ pay for that!_ Counting to ten, Loki attempted to ease out from under the much bulkier god, only to be snuggled back. _I swear he's heavier than Mjolnir!_ Thor emitted a gusty sigh and began producing the deep, rolling, sonorous snore of the thoroughly drunk. Loki counted to one hundred and ten this time, and instead of trying to wriggle out from under Thor, rolled him onto his back. The snoring ceased; Loki held his breath until the sound resumed, even more raucous this time.

Liberally sprinkling more of the perfume across the furs, Loki chuckled and shifted back to his usual form. "You put your chariot goats to shame with your racket, Brother," he admonished the unconscious god. Straightening his tunic and smoothing his hair, he exited the room with a definite bounce in his step.

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The next morning, Thor woke up with a thundering headache worthy of his title and absolutely no idea of how he had returned to his chambers. Rubbing his nose in the fur next to his face, a flowery scent clung to the back of his throat and he almost vomited. Carefully sitting up, he blinked owlishly, and when his stomach decided to put off its revolt, slowly worked his way upright with intentions of finding the nearest horse trough and plunging himself into it. Wobbling towards the door, he had no sooner forced himself through it when he fell in with his annoyingly chipper brother.

"Good morning! Did you sleep well?"

Thor managed a grunt; Loki's smile became broader. Slyly elbowing the taller god, he murmured, "Do you always show your companions such a good time?"

Blinking rapidly, Thor frowned until he recalled a cloying floral perfume, but aside from that, the rest of the encounter was a blur. He nodded anyways; Loki practically beamed. "I expect you'll remember this night for a very long time, Brother!"

Completely clueless but puffing out his chest and swaggering a little anyways, Thor clapped Loki on the shoulder hard enough to stagger the slender god. "O' course! Who'd forget somethin' like that?" he rasped. The entrance to the stables hove into sight; Thor quickened his stride but Loki kept pace.

"Just one question... are you always that physical, Brother?"

"Er... what?" Thor stumbled over his feet.

Loki obligingly propped him up. "I just wondered if all your bedfellows end up with bruises," he commented in an _extremely_ innocent tone.

"Bwah...?"

Loki casually brushed his hair away from his neck; when Thor followed the gesture and saw a small reddened patch, his usual ruddy complexion turned absolutely ashen. Pale eyes twinkling at Thor's horrified expression, the mischievous god tapped his finger against his lips and demurely continued, "Despite the rough handling, you weren't _bad_... but the stallion had better technique." Thor had turned an alarming shade of green even before Loki wickedly added, "_And_ he was better hung."

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End file.
